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Whiversity  of  California. 


i^, •  C I R  C  Ul.  A  TIN G     BRA  N C 11 

R^'trirn  in  f^Rfl'week^)  or  a  week  before  the  end  of  ^ue  UfS'in 


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THE    SPANISH    GYPSY, 

A    POEM. 
By  GEOUGE   ELIOT, 

Author  of  "ADAM    BEDE,"   "THE    MILL   ON    THE   FLOSS,"  &c. 
1  Vol.,  16mo.     Cloth,  S1.50;  Half  Calf,  S3.00. 


"It  is  emphatically  a  great  poem, —  great  in  conception,  great  in  execu- 
tion. The  theme  is  deeply  tragic,  belonging  to  times  more  eventful  than 
ours,  —  times  when  such  vast  influences  as  dominant  fanaticism  and  the  un- 
dying enmity  of  races  shaped  the  conditions  of  existence,  and  made  sport  of 
the  hopes  and  fortunes  and  passions  of  men.  The  story  is  as  grand  and 
massive  as  it  is  simple.  All  the  personages  are  sharply  chiselled,  and  full  of 
life ;  the  landscapes  are  magnificent ;  the  wise  reflections  and  apt  illustrations 
incessant,  lavishly  enriching  every  page."  —  Blackwood's  Magazine.  ' 

"  It  is,  undoubtedly,  much  the  greatest  poem  of  any  wide  scope,  and  on  a 
plan  of  any  magnitude,  which  has  ever  proceeded  from  a  woman, — a  poem 
far  superior  to  Mrs.  Browning's  '  Aurora  Leigh.'  "  — Londoji  Spectator. 

"'The  Spanish  Gypsy'  places  the  author  among  the  most  prominent 
names  of  this  poetic  generation.  In  largeness  of  view,  depth  and  fertility  of 
thought,  range  of  knowledge,  force  of  characterization,  and  purity  of  style, 
this  poem  lifts  George  Eliot  above  even  Mrs.  Browning ;  for  even  in  '  Aurora 
Leigh'  there  is  nothing  which,  in  respect  to  impassioned  imagination,  is 
equal  to  the  last  two  books  of '  The  Spanish  Gypsy.'  "  —  Boston  Tra7iscript. 

"The  story  affords  abundant  materials  for  tragic  depth  and  grandeur, 
which  the  author  has  not  failed  to  vivify  with  her  high  resources  of  literary 
art.  Her  rare  skill  in  the  delineation  of  character  finds  ample  scope ;  and 
the  power  of  acute  mental  analysis,  which  is  such  a  conspicuous  trait  of  the 
writer,  is  signally  displayed.  .  .  .  The  poem  is  pervaded  by  a  sweet  and 
gracious  human  atmosphere,  and  will  enhance  the  noble,  well-won  fame  of 
George  Eliot  as  one  of  the  wisest  and  most  elevated  writers  of  fiction  in  con- 
temporary literature."  —  New -York  Tribune. 


FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  k  CO.,  Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King, 


BY 

GEORGE    ELIOT, 

AUTHOR   OF   "  THE   SPANISH   GYPSY,"    ETC. 


BOSTON  : 
FIELDS,    OSGOOD,    AND    COMPANY, 

(Successors  to  Ticknor  &  Fields,) 
1869. 


is'S-s- 


7 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King, 


Six  hundred  years  ago,  in  Dante's  time, 
Before  his  cheek  was  furrowed  by  deep  rhyme  ; 
When  Europe,  fed  afresh  from  Eastern  story. 
Was  Uke  a  garden  tangled  with  the  glory 
Of  flowers    hand-planted    and    of    flowers    air- 
sown, 
Climbing  and  trailing,  budding  and  full-blown, 
Where  purple  bells  are  tossed  amid  pink  stars. 
And  springing  blades,  green  troops  in  innocent 

wars. 
Crowd  every  shady  spot  of  teeming  earth, 
Making  invisible  motion  visible  birth,  — 


8  'How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Six  hundred  years  ago,  Palermo  town 
Kept  holiday.     A  deed  of  great  renown, 
A  high  revenge,  had  freed  it  from  the  yoke 
Of  hated  Frenchmen  ;    and  from  Calpe's  rock 
To  where  the  Bosporus  caught  the  earlier  sun, 
'Twas  told  that  Pedro,  King  of  Aragon, 
Was  welcomed  master  of  all  Sicily,  — 
A  royal  knight,  supreme  as  kings  should  be 
In  strength  and  gentleness  that  make  high  chiv- 
alry. 

Spain  was  the  favorite  home  of  knightly  grace. 
Where  generous  men  rode  steeds  of  generous 

race; 
Both  Spanish,  yet  half  Arab  ;    both  inspired 
By  mutual  spirit,  that  each  motion  fired 
With  beauteous  response,  like  minstrelsy 
Afresh  fulfilling  fresh  expectancy. 


How  Lisa  lovci 


So,  when  Palermo  made  high  festival, 
The  joy  of  matrons  and  of  maidens  all 
Was  the  mock  terror  of  the  tournament, 
Where  safety,  with  the  glimpse  of  danger  blent. 
Took  exaltation  as  from  epic  song, 
Which  greatly  tells  the  pains  that  to  great  life 
belong. 

And  in  all  eyes  King  Pedro  was  the  king 

Of  cavaliers  ;  as  in  a  full-gemmed  ring 

The  largest  ruby,  or  as  that  bright  star 

Whose  shining  shows  us  where  the  Hyads  are. 

His  the  best  genet,  and  he  sat  it  best ;  ^ 

His  weapon,  whether  tilting  or  in  rest. 

Was   worthiest   watching ;    and   his   face,    once 

seen, 
Gave  to  the  promise  of  his  royal  mien 
Such  rich  fulfilment  as  the  opened  eyes 


10  How  Lisa  loved  the  Kinsr, 


'c> 


Of  a  loved  sleeper,  or  the  long-watched  rise 
Of  vernal  day,  whose  joy  o'er  stream  and  mea- 
dow flies. 

But  of  the  maiden  forms  that  thick  enwreathed 
The  broad  piazza,  and  sweet  witchery  breathed, 
With  innocent  faces  budding  all  arow, 
From  balconies  and  windows  high  and  low, 
Who  was  it  felt  the  deep  mysterious  glow, 
The  impregnation  with  supernal  fire 
Of  young  ideal  love,  transformed  desire, 
Whose  passion  is  but  worship  of  that  Best 
^aught   by   the   many-mingled   creed    of    each 
young  breast  ? 

'Twas  gentle  Lisa,  of  no  noble  line, 
Child  of  Bernardo,  a  rich  Florentine, 
Who  from  his  merchant-city  hither  came 
To  trade  in  drugs  ;  yet  kept  an  honest  fame, 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  1 1 

And  had  the  virtue  not  to  try  and  sell 

Drugs  that  had  none.     He  loved  his  riches  well, 

But  loved  them  chiefly  for  his  Lisa's  sake, 

Whom  with  a  father's  care  he  sought  to  make 

The  bride  of  some  true  honorable  man,  — 

Of  Perdicone  (so  the  rumor  ran), 

Whose  birth  was  higher  than  his  fortunes  were  ; 

For  still  your  trader  likes  a  mixture  fair 

Of  blood  that  hurries  to  some  higher  strain 

Than  reckoning  money's  loss  and  money's  gain. 

And  .of  such  mixture  good  may  surely  come: 

Lord's  scions  so  may  learn  to  cast  a  sum, 

A  trader's  grandson  bear  a  well-set  head, 

And  have  less  conscious  manners,  better  bred  ; 

Nor,  when  he  tries  to  be  polite,  be  rude  instead. 

'Twas  Perdicone's  friends  made  overtures 
To  good  Bernardo  ;  so  one  dame  assures 
Her  neighbor  dame,  who  notices  the  youth 


12  How  Lisa  loved  the  Khig. 


Fixing  his  eyes  on  Lisa ;  and,  in  truth, 
Eyes  that  could  see  her  on  this  summer  day 
Might  find  it  hard  to  turn  another  way. 
She  had  a  pensive  beauty,  yet  not  sad  ; 
Rather  like  minor  cadences  that  glad 
The  hearts  of  little  birds  amid  spring  boughs : 
And  oft  the  trumpet  or  the  joust  would  rouse 
Pulses  that  gave  her  cheek  a  finer  glow, 
Parting  her  lips  that  seemed  a  mimic  bow 
By  chiselling  Love  for  play  in  coral  wrought, 
Then   quickened   by   him    with   the    passionate 

thought. 
The  soul  that  trembled  in  the  lustrous  night 
Of  slow  long  eyes.     Her  body  was  so  slight, 
It  seemed  she  could  have  floated  in  the  sky, 
And  with  the  angelic  choir  made  symphony  ; 
But  in  her  cheek's  rich  tinge,  and  in  the  dark 
Of  darkest  hair  and  eyes,  she  bore  a  mark 


How  I%Sid^9(LtM^KiiM'^'/i        13 


Of  kinship  to  her  generous  mother-earth, 
The  fervid  land  that  gives  the  phnny  pahn-trees 
birth. 

She  saw  not  Perdicone  ;  her  young  mind 
Dreamed  not  that  any  man  had  ever  pined 
For  such  a  httle  simple  maid  as  she : 
She  had  but  dreamed  how  heavenly  it  would  be 
To  love  some  hero  noble,  beauteous,  great, 
Who  would  live  stories  worthy  to  narrate, 
Like  Roland,  or  the  warriors  of  Troy, 
The  Cid,  or  Amadis,  or  that  fair  boy 
Who  conquered  every  thing  beneath  the  sun, 
And  somehow,  some  time,  died  at  Babylon 
Fighting  the  Moors.     For  heroes  all  were  good 
And  fair  as  that  archangel  who  withstood 
The  Evil  One,  the  author  of  all  wrong,  — 
That  Evil  One  who  made  the  French  so  strong  ; 


14  How  Lisa  loved  the  King, 

And  now  the  flower  of  heroes  must  he  be 
Who  drove  those  tyrants  from  dear  Sicily, 
So  that  her  maids  might  walk  to  vespers  tran- 
quilly. 

Young  Lisa  saw  this  hero  in  the  king  ; 
And  as  wood-lilies  that  sweet  odors  bring 
Might  dream  the  light  that  opes  their  modest 

eyne 
Was  lily-odored  ;  and  as  rites  divine, 
Round  turf-laid  altars,  or  'neath  roofs  of  stone, 
Draw  sanctity  from  out  the  heart  alone 
That  loves  and  worships  :  so  the  miniature 
Perplexed  of  her  soul's  world,  all  virgin  pure. 
Filled  Avith  heroic  virtues  that  bright  form, 
Raona's  royalty,  the  finished  norm 
Of  horsemanship,  the  half  of  chivalry  ; 
For  how  could  generous  men  avengers  be, 


Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  King.  15 

Save  as  God's  messengers  on  coursers  fleet  ?  — 
These,  scouring  earth,  made  Spain  with   Syria 

meet 
In  one  self-world  where  the  same  right  had  sway, 
And  good  must  grow  as  grew  the  blessed  day. 
No  more :  great  Love  his  essence  had  endued 
With  Pedro's  form,  and,  entering,  subdued 
The  soul  of  Lisa,  fervid  and  intense, 
Proud  in  its  choice  of  proud  obedience 
To  hardship  glorified  by  perfect  reverence. 

Sweet  Lisa  homeward  carried  that  dire  guest. 
And  in  her  chamber,  through  the  hours  of  rest, 
The  darkness  was  alight  for  her  with  sheen 
Of  arms,  and  plumcM  helm  ;  and  bright  between 
Their  commoner  gloss,  like  the  pure  living  spring 
'Twixt  porphyry  lips,  or  living  bird's  bright  wing 
'Twixt  golden  wires,  the  glances  of  the  king 


1 6  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Flashed  on  her  soul,  and  waked  vibrations  there 
Of  known  delisrhts  love-mixed  to  new  and  rare  : 
The  impalpable  dream  was  turned  to  breathing 

flesh, 
Chill  thought  of  summer  to  the  warm  close  mesh 
Of  sunbeams  held  between  the  citron-leaves, 
Clothing  her  life  of  life.     Oh  !  she  believes 
That  she  could  be  content  if  he  but  knew 
(Her  poor  small  self  could  claim  no  other  due) 
How  Lisa's  lowly  love  had  highest  reach 
Of  winged  passion,  whereto  winged  speech 
Would  be  scorched  remnants  left  by  mounting 

flame. 
Though,   had  she  such  lame  message,  were  it 

blame 
To  tell  what  greatness  dwelt  in  her,  what  rank 
She  held  in  loving  1     Modest  maidens  shrank 
From  telling  love  that  fed  on  selfish  hope  ; 


How  LiMmed  ih7 mkg,'l  \)\    17 


But  love,  as  hopeless  as  nfesfe:ite?f^  song, 
Wailed  for  loved  beings  who  have  joined  the 

throng 
Of  mighty  dead  ones.    .    .    .    Nay,  but  she  was 

weak, 
Knew  only  prayers  and  ballads,  could  not  speak 
With  eloquence,  save  what  dumb  creatures  have, 
That  with  small  cries  and  touches  small  boons 

crave. 

She  watched  all  day  that  she  might  see  him  pass 
With  knights  and  ladies  ;  but  she  said,  "  Alas  ! 
Though  he  should  see  me,  it  were  all  as  one 
He  saw  a  pigeon  sitting  on  the  stone 
Of  wall  or  balcony  :  some  colored  spot 
His  eye  just  sees,  his  mind  regardeth  not. 
I  have  no  music-touch  that  could  bring  nigh 
My  love  to  his  soul's  hearing.     I  shall  die, 


1 8  How  Lisa  loved  the  King, 

And  he  will  never  know  who  Lisa  was,  — 
The  trader's  child,  whose  soaring  spirit  rose 
As   hedge-born   aloe-flowers    that    rarest   years 
disclose. 

''  For  were  I  now  a  fair  deep-breasted  queen 
A-horseback,  with  blonde  hair,  and  tunic  green, 
Gold-bordered,  like  Costanza,  I  should  need 
No  change  within  to  make  me  queenly  there : 
For  they  the  royal-hearted  women  are 
Who  nobly  love  the  noblest,  yet  have  grace  ; 
For  needy  suffering  lives  in  lowliest  place, 
Carrying  a  choicer  sunlight  in  their  smile. 
The  heavenliest  ray  that  pitieth  the  vile. 
My  love  is  such,  it  cannot  choose  but  soar 
Up  to  the  highest ;  yet  forevermore. 
Though  I  were  happy,  throned  beside  the  king, 
I  should  be  tender  to  each  little  thinp: 


Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  Kmg.  19 

With  hurt  warm  breast,  that  had  no  speech  to 

tell 
Its  inward  pang  ;  and  I  would  soothe  it  well 
With  tender  touch,  and  with  a  low  soft"  moan 
For  company :  my  dumb  love-pang  is  lone. 
Prisoned  as  topaz-beam  within  a  rough-garbed 

stone." 

So,  inward-wailing,  Lisa  passed  her  days. 

Each    night   the  August    moon   with    changing 

phase 
Looked  broader,  harder,  on  her  unchanged  pain  ; 
Each  noon  the  heat  lay  heavier  again 
On  her  despair,  until  her  body  frail 
Shrank  like  the  snow  that  watchers  in  the  vale 
See  narrowed  on  the  height  each  summer  morn  ; 
While  her  dark  glance  burnt  larger,  more  forlorn, 
As  if  the  soul  within  her,  all  on  fire, 


20  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Made  of  her  being  one  swift  funeral-pyre. 
Father  and  mother  saw  with  sad  dismay 
The  meaning  of  their  riches  melt  away  ; 
For  witholit  Lisa  what  would  sequins  buy  ? 
What  wish  were  left  if  Lisa  were  to  die  ? 
Through  her  they  cared  for  summers   still    to 

come, 
Else  they  would  be  as  ghosts  without  a  home 
In  any  flesh  that  could  feel  glad  desire. 
They  pay  the  best  physicians,  never  tire 
Of  seeking  what  will  soothe  her,  promising 
That  aught  she  longed  for,  though  it  were  a  thing 
Hard  to  be  come  at  as  the  Indian  snow, 
Or  roses  that  on  Alpine  summits  blow, 
It  should  be  hers.     She  answers  with  low  voice, 
She  longs  for  death  alone  —  death  is  her  choice  ; 
Death  is  the  king  who  never  did  think  scorn. 
But  rescues  every  meanest  soul  to  sorrow  born. 


Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  King.  21 

Yet  one  day,  as  they  bent  above  her  bed, 

And  watched  her  in  brief  sleep,   her  drooping 

head 
Turned  gently,  as  the  thirsty  flowers  that  feel 
Some  moist  revival  through  their  petals  steal  ; 
And  little  flutterings  of  her  lids  and  lips 
Told  of  such  dreamy  joy  as  sometimes  dips 
A  skyey  shadow  in  the  mind's  poor  pool. 
She  oped  her  eyes,  and  turned  their  dark  gems 

full 
Upon  her  father,  as  in  utterance  dumb 
Of  some  new  prayer  that  in  her  sleep  had  come. 
"  What  is  it,  Lisa  }  "  —  "  Father,  I  would  see 
Minuccio,  the  great  singer ;  bring  him  me." 
For  always,  night  and  day,  her  unstilled  thought, 
Wandering  all  o'er  its  little  world,  had  sought 
How  she   could   reach,  by  some   soft  pleading 

touch, 


22  How  Lisa  loved  tJie  King. 

King  Pedro's  soul,  that  she  who  loved  so  much, 
Dying,  might  have  a  place  within  his  mind,  — 
A  little  grave  which  he  would  sometimes  find 
And  plant  some  flower  on  it,  —  some  thought, 
some  memory  kind. 

Till  in  her  dream  she  saw  Minuccio 
Touching  his  viola,  and  chanting  low 
A  strain,  that,  falling  on  her  brokenly. 
Seemed  blossoms  lightly  blown  from  off  a  tree  ; 
Each  burthened  with  a  word  that  was  a  scent,  — 
Raona,  Lisa,  love,  death,  tournament ; 
Then  in  her  dream  she  said,  "  He  sings  of  me. 
Might  be  my  messenger  ;  ah  !  now  I  see 
The  king  is  listening  "  —     Then  she  awoke. 
And,   missing   her  dear  dream,   that    new-born 
longing  spoke. 


Hoiv  LisaT^i^j>M!B^ICif^^:'  ^J^      23 


She  longed  for  music  :  that  was  natural  ; 
Physicians  said  it  was  medicinal  ; 
The  humors  might  be  schooled  by  true  consent 
Of  a  fine  tenor  and  fine  instrument ; 
In  short,  good  music,  mixed  with  doctor's  stuff, 
Apollo  with  Asklepios  —  enough  ! 
Minuccio,  entreated,  gladly  came. 
(He  was  a  singer  of  most  gentle  fame, 
A  noble,  kindly  spirit,  not  elate 
That  he  was  famous,  but  that  song  was  great ; 
Would  sing  as  finely  to  this  suffering  child 
As  at  the  court  where  princes  on  him  smiled.) 
Gently  he  entered  and  sat  down  by  her. 
Asking  what  sort  of  strain  she  would  prefer,  — 
The  voice  alone,  or  voice  with  viol  wed  ; 
Then,  when  she  chose  the  last,  he  preluded 
With   magic   hand,  that   summoned    from    the 
strings 


24  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Aerial  spirits,  rare  yet  palpable  wings 
That  fanned  the  pulses  of  his  listener, 
And  waked  each    sleeping   sense  with   blissful 

stir. 
Her  cheek  already  showed  a  slow,  faint  blush  ; 
But  soon  the  voice,  in  pure,  full,  liquid  rush, 
Made  all  the  passion,  that  till  now  she  felt. 
Seem  but  as  cooler  waters  that  in  warmer  melt. 

Finished  the  song,  she  prayed  to  be  alone 
With  kind  Minuccio  ;  for  her  faith  had  grown 
To  trust  him  as  if  missioned  like  a  priest 
With  some  high  grace,  that,  when  his  singing 

ceased, 
Still  made  him  wiser,  more  magnanimous, 
Than  common  men  who  had  no  genius. 
So,  laying  her  small  hand  within  his  palm. 
She  told  him  how  that  secret,  glorious  harm 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  25 

Of  loftiest  loving  had  befallen  her ; 
That  death,  her  only  hope,  most  bitter  were. 
If,  when  she  died,  her  love  must  perish  too 
As  songs  unsung,  and  thoughts  unspoken  do, 
Which  else  might  live  within  another  breast. 
She  said,  "  Minuccio,  the  grave  were  rest, 
If  I  were  sure,  that,  lying  cold  and  lone. 
My  love,  my  best  of  life,  had  safely  flown 
And  nestled  in  the  bosom  of  the  king. 
See,  'tis  a  small  weak  bird,  with  unfledged  wing ; 
But  you  will  carry  it  for  me  secretly. 
And  bear  it  to  the  king  ;    then  come  to  me 
And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  and  I  shall  go 
Content,  knowing  that  he  I  love  my  love  doth 
know." 

Then  she  wept  silently  ;  but  each  large  tear 
Made  pleading  music  to  the  inward  ear 


26  .  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Of  good  Minuccio.     "  Lisa,  trust  in  me," 
He  said,  and  kissed  her  fingers  loyally : 
"  It  is  sweet  law  to  me  t-o  do  your  will, 
And,  ere  the  sun  his  round  shall  thrice  fulfil, 
I  hope  to  bring  you  news  of  such  rare  skill 
As  amulets  have,  that  aches  in  trusting  bosoms 
still" 

He  needed  not  to  pause  and  first  devise 
How  he  should  tell  the  king  ;  for  in  nowise 
Were  such  love-message  worthily  bested 
Save  in  fine  verse  by  music  rendered. 
He  sought  a  poet-friend,  a  Siennese, 
And  "  Mico,  mine,"  he  said,  "  full  oft  to  please 
Thy  whim  of  sadness  I  have  sung  thee  strains 
To    make    thee  weep    in    verse:  now   pay    my 

pains, 
And  write  me  a  canzon  divinely  sad) 


How  Lisa  loved  tJie  King.  27 

Sinlessly  passionate,  and  meekly  mad 
With  young  despair,  speaking  a  maiden's  heart 
Of  fifteen  summers,  who  woukl  fain  depart 
From  ripening  hfe's  new-urgent  mystery,  — 
Love-choice  of  one  too  high  her  love  to  be,  — 
But  cannot  yield  her  breath  till  she  has  poured 
Her  strength  away  in  this  hot-bleeding  word, 
Telling  the  secret  of  her  soul  to  her  soul's  lord." 

Said  Mico,  "  Nay,  that  thought  is  poesy, 

I  need  but  listen  as  it  sings  to  me. 

Come  thou  again  to-morrow."     The  third  day, 

When  linked  notes  had  jDcrfected  the  lay, 

Minuccio  had  his  summons  to  the  court, 

To  make,  as  he  was  wont,  the  moments  short 

Of  ceremonious  dinner  to  the  king. 

This  was  the  time  when  he  had  meant  to  bring 

Melodious  message  of  young  Lisa's  love  • 


28  How  Lisa  loved  tJie  King. 

He  waited  till  the  air  had  ceased  to  move   . 
To  ringing  silver,  till  Falernian  wine 
Made  quickened  sense  with  quietude  combine  ; 
And  then  with  passionate  descant  made  each 
ear  incline. 

Love,   thou   didst  see  me,  light  as  morning's 

breathy 
Roaming  a  gai'den  in  a  joyons  erivr, 
Laughing  at  chases  vain,  a  happy  child. 
Till  of  thy  countenance  the  alltiring  terror 
In  majesty  front  out  the  blossoms  smiled, 
From  out  their  life  seeming  a  beauteous  D  cat  It 
O  Love,  who  so  didst  choose  me  for  tJiine  oivn. 
Taking  this  little  isle  to  thy  great  sway^ 
See  now,  it  is  the  Jionor  of  thy  tJirone 
That  what  thou  gavest  perish  not  away. 
Nor  leave  some  szveet  7'emembrance  to  atone 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  29 

By  life  that  will  be  for  the  brief  life  gone  : 
Hear,  ere  the  sJirond  der  these  frail  limbs  be 

throzvn  — 
Since  every  king  is  vassal  unto  thee. 
My  hearts  lord  needs  nitist  listen  loyally  — 
O  tell  him  I  am  waiting  for  my  Death  ! 

Tell  him,  for  that  he  hath  such  royal  power 
'  Twere  hard  for  him  to  think  hozv  small  a  thing, 
How  slight  a  sign,  zvouldmake  a  zuealthy  dozver 
For  one  like  me,  the  bride  of  that  pale  king 

Whose  bed  is  mine  at  some  szvift-nearing  hour. 
Go  to  my  lord,  and  to  his  memory  bring 

That  happy  birthday  of  my  sorrowing. 

When   his   large  glance  made  meaner  gazers 

glad. 
Entering  the  bannered  lists :  'twas  then  I  had 

The  zvoimd  that  laid  me  in  the  arms  of  Death. 


30  Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Tell  him .^  O  Love,  L  am  a  loivly  maid, 
No  more  tJian  any  little  knot  of  tJiyme 
That  he  zvith  careless  foot  may  often  tread ; 
Yet  lozvest  fragranee  oft  will  inonnt  snblime 
And  eleave  to  things  most  high  and  Jiallowed, 
As  doth  tJie fragranee  of  my  life's  springtime^ 
My  lozvly  love,  that,  soaring,  seeks  to  climb 
Within  his  thonght,  and  make  a  gentle  blisSy 
More  blissful  than  if  mine,  in  being  his  : 
So  shall  /  live  in  him,  and  rest  in  Death. 

The  strain  was  new.     It  seemed  a  pleading  cry, 

And  yet  a  rounded,  perfect  melody. 

Making  grief  beauteous  as  the  tear-filled  eyes 

Of  little  child  at  little  miseries. 

Trembling  at  first,  then  swelling  as  it  rose, 

Like  rising  light  that  broad  and  broader  grows, 

It  filled  the  hall,  and  so  possessed  the  air, 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  31 

That  not  one  living,  breathing  soul  was  there, 
Though  dullest,  slowest,  but  was  quivering 
In  Music's  grasp,  and  forced  to  hear  her  sing. 
But  most  such  sweet  compulsion  took  the  mood 
Of  Pedro  (tired  of  doing  what  he  would). 
Whether  the  words  which  that  strange  meaning 

bore 
Were  but  the  poet's  feigning,  or  aught  more, 
Was  bounden  question,  since  their  aim  must  be 
At  some  imagined  or  true  royalty. 
He  called  Minuccio,  and  bade  him  tell 
What  poet  of  the  day  had  writ  so  well ; 
For,  though  they  came  behind  all  former  rhymes, 
The  verses  were  not  bad  for  these  poor  times. 
"  Monsignor,  they  are  only  three  days  old," 
Minuccio  said  ;  "  but  it  must  not  be  told 
How  this  song  grew,  save  to  your  royal  ear." 
Eager,  the  king  withdrew  where  none  was  near, 


32  Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  Kmg. 

And  gave  close  audience  to  Minuccio, 

Who  meetly  told  that  love-tale  meet  to  know. 

The  kmg  had  features  pliant  to  confess 

The  presence  of  a  manly  tenderness,  — 

Son,  father,  brother,  lover,  blent  in  one. 

In  fine  harmonic  exaltation  ; 

The  spirit  of  religious  chivalry. 

He  listejied,  and  Minuccio  could  see 

The  tender,  generous  admiration  spread 

O'er  all  his  face,  and  glorify  his  head 

With  royalty  that  would  have  kept  its  rank. 

Though  his  brocaded  robes  to  tatters  shrank. 

He  answered  without  pause,  "  So  sweet  a  maid, 

In  Nature's  own  insignia  arrayed, 

Though  she  were  come  of  unmixed  trading  blood 

That  sold  and  bartered  ever  since  the  flood. 

Would  have  the  self-contained  and  single  worth 

Of  radiant  jewels  born  in  darksome  earth. 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  33 

Raona  were  a  shame  to  Sicily, 
Letting  such  love  and  tears  unhonored  be  : 
Hasten,  Minuccio,  tell  her  that  the  king 
To-day  will  surely  visit  her  when  vespers  ring." 

Joyful,  Minuccio  bore  the  joyous  word, 
And  told  at  full,  while  none  but  Lisa  heard, 
How  each  thing  had  befallen,  sang  the  song, 
And,  like  a  patient  nurse  who  would  prolong 
All  means  of  soothing,  dwelt  upon  each  tone, 
Each  look,  with  which  the  mighty  Aragon 
Marked  the  high  worth  his  royal  heart  assigned 
To  that  dear  place  he  held  in  Lisa's  mind. 
She  Hstened  till  the  draughts  of  pure  content 
Through  all    her   limbs   like    some    new   being 

went  — 
Life,  not  recovered,  but  untried  before, 
From  out  the  growing  world's  unmeasured  store 


34  How  Lisa  loved  the  Kijig. 

Of  fuller,  better,  more  divinely  mixed. 
'Twas  glad  reverse :  she  had  so  firmly  fixed 
To  die,  already  seemed  to  fall  a  veil 
Shrouding  the  inner  glow  from  light  of  senses 
pale. 

Her  parents,  wondering,  see  her  half  arise  ; 
Wondering,  rejoicing,  see  her  long  dark  eyes 
Brimful  with  clearness,  not  of  'scaping  tears. 
But  of  some  light  ethereal  that  enspheres 
Their  orbs  with  calm,  some  vision  newly  learnt 
Where  strangest  fires  erewhile  had  blindly  burnt. 
She  asked  to  have  her  soft  white  robe  and  band 
And  coral  ornaments  ;  and  with  her  hand 
She  gave  her  long  dark  locks  a  backward  fall, 
Then  looked  intently  in  a  mirror  small. 
And  feared  her  face  might,  perhaps,  displease 
the  kino: : 


Hoiv  Lisa  loved  the  King.  35 

"  In  truth,"  she  said,  "  I  am  a  tiny  thing  : 
I    was   too   bold  to  tell  what  could  such    visit 
bring." 

Meanwhile  the  kino^,  revolvinG:  in  his  thou2:ht 

That  innocent  passion,  was  more  deeply  wrought 

To  chivalrous  pity  ;  and  at  vesper-bell, 

With,  careless  mien  which  hid  his  purpose  well, 

Went  forth  on  horseback,  and,  as  if  by  chance 

Passing  Bernardo's  house,  he  paused  to  glance 

At  the  fine  garden  of  this  wealthy  man. 

This  Tuscan  trader  turned  Paler mitan  ; 

But,  presently  dismounting,  chose  to  walk 

Amid  the  trellises,  in  gracious  talk 

With  this  same  trader,  deigning  even  to  ask 

If  he  had  yet  fulfilled  the  father's  task 

Of  marrying  that  daughter,  whose  young  charms 

Himself,  betwixt  the  passages  of  arms, 


36  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

Noted  admiringly.     "  Monsignor,  no, 
She  is  not  married  :  that  were  little  woe, 
Since  she  has  counted  barely  fifteen  years  ; 
But  all  such  hopes  of  late  have  turned  to  fears  ; 
She  droops  and  fades,  though,  for  a  space  quite 

brief, — 
Scarce    three    hours    past,  —  she    finds    some 

strange  relief." 
The  king  avised  :  *'  'Twere  dole  to  all  of  us, 
The  world  should  lose  a  maid  so  beauteous  : 
Let  me  now  see  her  ;  since  I  am  her  liege  lord, 
Her  spirits   must  wage  war  with   death   at  my 

strong  word." 
In  such  half-serious  playfulness,  he  wends, 
With  Lisa's  father  and  two  chosen  friends, 
Up  to  the  chamber  where  she  pillowed  sits, 
Watching  the  door  that  opening  admits 
A  presence  as  much  better  than  her  dreams, 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  37 

As  happiness  than  any  longing  seems. 
The  king  advanced,  and,  with  a  reverent  kiss 
Upon  her  hand,  said,  "  Lady,  what  is  this  ? 
You,  whose  sweet  youth  should  others'  solace  be, 
Pierce  all  our  hearts,  languishing  piteously. 
We  pray  you,  for  the  love  of  us,  be  cheered, 
Nor  be  too  reckless  of  that  life,  endeared 
To  us  who  know  your  passing  worthiness, 
And  count  your  blooming  life  as   part  of  our 
life's  bliss." 

Those  words,  that  touch  upon  her  hand  from  him 
Whom  her  soul  worshipped,  as  far  seraphim 
Worship  the  distant  glory,  brought  some  shame 
Quivering  upon  her  cheek,  yet  thrilled  her  frame 
With  such  deep  joy  she  seemed  in  paradise. 
In  wondering  gladness,  and  in  dumb  surprise. 
That  bliss  could  be  so  blissful.     Then  she  spoke  : 


38  Hoiv  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

"  Signer,  I  was  too  weak  to  bear  the  yoke, 
The  golden  yoke,  of  thoughts  too  great  for  me  ; 
That  was  the  ground  of  my  infirmity. 
But  now  I  pray  your  grace  to  have  belief 
That  I  shall  soon  be  well,  nor  any  more  cause 
grief" 

The  king  alone  perceived  the  covert  sense 
Of  all  her  words,  which  made  one  evidence, 
With  her  pure  voice  and  candid  loveliness. 
That  he  had  lost  much  hon.or,  honoring  less 
That  message  of  her  passionate  distress. 
He  staid  beside  her  for  a  little  while, 
With  gentle  looks  and  speech,  until  a  smile 
As  placid  as  a  ray  of  early  morn 
On  opening  flower-cups  o'er  her  lips  was  borne. 
When  he  had  left  her,  and  the  tidings  spread 
Through  all  the  town,  how  he  had  visited 


How  Lisa  lov,cd  the'' King x    ^,     .39 


The  Tuscan  trader's  daughter,  who  was  sick, 
Men  said  it  was  a  royal  deed,  and  cathohc. 

And  Lisa  ?    She  no  longer  wished  for  death  ; 

But  as  a  poet,  who  sweet  verses  saith 

Within  his  soul,  and  joys  in  music  there, 

Nor  seeks  another  heaven,  nor  can  bear 

Disturbing  pleasures,  so  was  she  content, 

Breathing  the  life  gf  grateful  sentiment. 

She  thought  no  maid  betrothed  could  be  more 

blest  ; 
For  treasure  must  be  valued  by  the  test 
Of  highest  excellence  and  rarity, 
And  her  dear  joy  was  best  as  best  could  be  : 
There  seemed  no  other  crown  to  her  delight, 
Now  the  high  loved  one  saw  her  love  aright. 
Thus  her  soul  thriving  on  that  exquisite  mood, 
Spread  like  the  May-time  all  its  beauteous  good 


40  Hoiv  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

O'er  the  soft  bloom  of  neck  and  arms  and  cheek, 
And  strengthened  the  sweet  body,  once  so  weak. 
Until  she  rose  and  walked,  and,  like  a  bird 
With    sweetly  rippling    throat,   she    made    her 
spring  joys  heard. 

The  king,  when  he  the  happy  change  had  seen. 
Trusted  the  ear  of  Constance,  his  fair  queen, 
With  Lisa's  innocent  secret,  and  conferred 
How  they  should  jointly,  by  their  deed  and  word. 
Honor  this  maiden's  love,  which,  like  the  prayer 
Of  loyal  hermits,  never  thought  to  share 
In  what  it  gave.    The  queen  had  that  chief  grace 
Of  womanhood,  a  heart  that  can  embrace 
All  goodness  in  another  woman's  form  ; 
And  that  same  day,  ere  the  sun  lay  too  warm 
On  southern  terraces,  a  messenger 
Informed  Bernardo  that  the  royal  pair 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  41 

Would  straightway  visit  him,  and  celebrate 
Their  gladness  at  his  daughter's  happier  state, 
Which   they  were  fain  to  see.     Soon  came  the 

king 
On  horseback,  with  his  barons,  heralding 
The  advent  of  the  queen  in  courtly  state ; 
And  all,  descending  at  the  garden  gate. 
Streamed  with   their  feathers,  velvet,  and   bro- 
cade, 
Through  the  pleached  alleys,  till  they,  pausing, 

made 
A  lake  of  splendor  'mid  the  aloes  gray  ; 
When,  meekly  facing  all  their  proud  array. 
The  whit€-robed  Lisa  with  her  parents  stood. 
As  some  white  dove  before  the  gorgeous  brood 
Of  dapple-breasted  birds  born  by  the  Colchian 
flood. 


42  Hoiv  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

The   king   and    queen,    by  gracious    looks   and 

speech, 
Encourage  her,  and  thus  their  courtiers  teach 
How,  this  fair  morning,  they  may  courthest  be, 
By  making  Lisa  pass  it  happily. 
And  soon  the  ladies  and  the  barons  all 
Draw  her  by  turns,  as  at  a  festival 
Made  for  her  sake,  to  easy,  gay  discourse, 
And  compliment  with  looks  and  smiles  enforce ; 
A  joyous  hum  is  heard  the  gardens  round  ; 
Soon  there  is  Spanish  dancing,  and  the  sound 
Of  minstrel's  song,  and  autumn  fruits  are  pluckt ; 
Till  mindfully  the  king  and  queen  conduct 
Lisa  apart  to  where  a  trellised  shade 
Made  pleasant  resting.   Then  King  Pedro  said,  — 
*'  Excellent  maiden,  that  rich  gift  of  love 
Your  heart  hath  made  us  hath  a  worth  above 
All  royal  treasures,  nor  is  fitly  met 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  43 

Save  when  the  grateful  memory  of  deep  debt 
Lies  still  behind  the  outward  honors  done : 
And  as  a  sign  that  no  oblivion 
Shall  overflood  that  faithful  memory, 
We  while  we  live  your  cavalier  will  be  ; 
Nor  will  we  ever  arm  ourselves  for  fight, 
Whether  for  struggle  dire,  or  brief  delight 
Of  warlike  feigning,  but  we  first  will  take 
The  colors  you  ordain,  and  for  your  sake 
Charge  the  more  bravely  where  your  emblem  is  ; 
Nor  will  we  claim  from  you  an  added  bliss 
To  our  sweet  thoughts  of  you  save  one  sole  kiss. 
But  there  still  rests  the  outward  honor  meet 
To  mark  your  worthiness  ;    and  we  entreat 
That  you  will  turn  your  ear  to  proffered  vows 
Of  one  who  loves  you,  and  would  be  your  spouse. 
We  must  not  wrong  yourself  and  Sicily 
By  letting  all  your  blooming  years  pass  by 


44  How  Lisa  loved  the  Ki?ig. 

Unmated  :  you  will  give  the  world  its  due 
From  beauteous  maiden,  and  become  a  matron 
true." 

Then  Lisa,  wrapt  in  virgin  wonderment 
At  her  ambitious  love's  complete  content, 
Which  left  no  further  good  for  her  to  seek 
Than  love's  obedience,  said,  with  accent  meek,  — 
"  Monsignor,  I  know  well  that  were  it  known 
To  all  the  world  how  high  my  love  had  flown, 
There  would  be  few  who  would  not  deem  me 

mad. 
Or  say  my  mind  the  falsest  image  had 
Of  my  condition  and  your  loftiness. 
But  Heaven  has  seen  that  for  no  moment's  space 
Have  I  forgotten  you  to  be  the  king, 
Or  me  myself  to  be  a  lowly  thing  — 
A  little  lark,  enamoured  of  the  sky, 


Hozv  Lisa  loved  the  King.  45 

That  soared  to  sing,  to  break  its  breast,    and 

die. 
But,  as  you  better  know  than  I,  the  heart 
In  choosing  chooseth  not  its  own  desert, 
But  that  great  merit  which  attracteth  it : 
'Tis  law,  I  struggled,  but  I  must  submit, 
And  having  seen  a  worth  all  worth  above, 
I  loved  you,  love  you,  and  shall  always  love. 
But  that  doth  mean,  my  will  is  ever  yours, 
Not  only  when  your  will  my  good  insures, 
But   if    it   wrought   me   what   the   world    calls 

harm  : 
Fire,  wounds,  would  wear  from  your  dear  will  a 

charm. 
That  you  will  be  my  knight  is  full  content, 
And  for  that  kiss,  —  I  pray,  first,  for  the  queen's 

consent." 


4-6  How  Lisa  loved  tJie  King. 

Her  answer,  given  with  such  firm  gentleness, 
Pleased  the  queen  well,  and  made  her  hold  no 

less 
Of  Lisa's  merit  than  the  king  had  held. 
And  so,  all  cloudy  threats  of  grief  dispelled, 
There  was  betrothal  made  that  very  morn 
'Twixt  Perdicone,  youthful,  brave,  well-born. 
And  Lisa  whom  he  loved  ;  she  loving  well 
The  lot  that  from  obedience  befell. 
The  queen  a  rare  betrothal  ring  on  each 
Bestowed,  and  other  gems,  with  gracious  speech. 
And,  that  no  joy  might  lack,  the  king,  who  knew 
The  youth  was  poor,  gave  him  rich  Ceffalu 
And  Cataletta,  —  large  and  fruitful  lands,  — 
Adding  much    promise    when    he    joined    their 

hands. 
At  last  he  said  to  Lisa,  with  an  air 
Gallant  yet  noble,  "  Now  we  claim  our  share 


How  Lisa  loved  the  King.  47 

From   your  sweet  love,  a   share  which   is   not 

small ; 
For  in  the  sacrament  one  crumb  is  all." 
Then,  taking  her  small  face  his  hands  between, 
He  kissed  her  on  the  brow  with  kiss  serene,  — 
Fit  seal  to  that  pure  vision  her  young  soul  had 

seen. 

And  many  witnessed  that  King  Pedro  kept 
His  royal  promise.     Perdicone  stept 
To  many  honors  honorably  won, 
Living  with  Lisa  in  true  union. 
Throughout  his  life,  the  king  still  took  delight 
To  call  himself  fair  Lisa's  faithful  knight  ; 
And  never  wore  in  field  or  tournament 
A  scarf  or  emblem,  save  by  Lisa  sent. 
Such  deeds  made  subjects  loyal  in  that  land  ; 
They  joyed  that  one  so  worthy  to  command, 


48  How  Lisa  loved  the  King. 

So  chivalrous  and  gentle,  had  become 
The  king  of  Sicily,  and  filled  the  room 
Of  Frenchmen,  who  abused  the  Church's  trust, 
Till,  in  a  righteous  vengeance  on  their  lust, 
Messina  rose,  with  God,  and  with  the  dagger's 
thrust. 

l'envoi. 

Reader,  this  story  pleased  me  lojig  ago 

In  the  bright  pages  of  Boccaccio  ; 

And  where  the  author  of  a  good  zve  know. 

Let  ns  not  fail  to  pay  the  grateful  thanks  we  owe. 


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